


Best Fuckin' Friends Forever.

by mr_charles



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Mild canon divergence, Potential AU, my headcanon is these two watch football and eat nachos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-11
Updated: 2013-05-17
Packaged: 2017-12-11 12:38:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/798812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mr_charles/pseuds/mr_charles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Abigail Hobbs wants to be normal. Abigail Hobbs wants a friend. Beverly Katz just wants someone to drool over Will Graham with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Normalcy was something Abigail Hobbs would never experience again. The blood would never wash off her pale hands nor would the nightmares ever cease.

But she tried; she really did. A few introductory college courses let her snoop around Crawford's people while she took scrawling shorthand notes in a tiny notebook. She wrote in gel pens and tried to color coordinate with her chosen scarf. She believed that maybe if she looked and acted normal, she'd start to feel a shred of that normalcy again.

Her friends were scarce, which wasn't what Abigail wouldn't have liked ( _"Who wants to be friends with the serial killer's daughter who is still living in the loony bin?"_  was a question Abigail often asked herself) but it was the current situation.

Abigail could survive. It was what she did. She adapted and she survived.

There were a few girls and a boy or two who she'd partner with when they were observing. A few of the girls had gone and gotten coffee and sandwiches with her but the whispers ( _"I can't believe she still eats meat!"_ ) were signs that they didn't much care for her.

Abigail Hobbs' life had become one of routine. School, hospital, homework, job-hunting, sleep. Add in some food and a few therapeutic social calls from the good Dr. Lecter and you had Abigail's life in a nutshell.

So on the bleary Thursday in April that Beverly Katz sat next to Abigail in the back of Will Graham's lecture hall and offered her a bag of pretzels put young Abigail in a state of confusion.

"They're drier than kindling but they are super delicious," Beverly explained, waving the bag tauntingly below Abigail's nose. "Want one?"

"I thought we weren't supposed to have food in the lecture halls," Abigail said warily, eyeing Will's stumbling form as he prepared slides for the class.

Beverly held a finger up in pause while she crunched on her pretzels. With a dry swallow, she said, "Will can't even make eye contact, Abigail. Do you really think he's going to kick you out of class for eating a snack? Now do you want a goddamn pretzel or not?"

"What are you doing here?" Abigail asked, holding a handful of pretzel sticks. She ate them, individually and slowly, with Beverly smiled.

"I like to watch," she said, pulling her dark hair up. Abigail looked at her unmarred throat with a twinge of jealousy.

"Watch what?" Beverly pointed to Will, now stooped to pick up a dropped clicker. Between his position and the lighting in the lecture hall, Abigail (and Beverly) had a rather nice view of his-

"Oh. Oh my."

Beverly laughed, a full sort of noise that brought a smile to Abigail's face. "Is this what you come here for?" Abigail asked, the smile lingering in her cheeks.

Beverly nods, rolling the pretzel bag up with an obnoxious crackle. "That and I like some of his lectures. Insect activity is my scientific bitch and I love to hear other people's thoughts on how botfly infestation affects decomp."

Abigail pauses. Beverly's face falls. Abigail can see the woman's mind racing  _oh god what did i say shit fuck dammit bev you can't just-_

"Do you have a lot of friends, Ms. Katz?"

"Ms. Katz is my over-achieving sister who teaches English to ninth graders in Jersey. I, the delightful Miss Beverly, have a lot of friends. Why do you ask?"

"I just-" Abigail fumbles with the fringe on her scarf. "I want to know that I can be interested in all of this-"  _death murder stabbing blood killing_  "-and still have friends."

"Do you need a friend, Abigail?"

Abigail looks at the woman, the woman with a glint in her eye and the hint of a smile on her lips, and says, "Yes I'd like a friend."

 


	2. Chapter 2

It was a bright Saturday morning in May when Abigail awoke to a pounding on her hospital room door. Groggily (and in her rather childishly blue pajamas) she opened the door to find Beverly wide-eyed and carrying a small bag from a local drug store.

"Can I do a science experiment on you?" were the first words out of her mouth.

With a nod, Abigail let her newfound friend into the room. "What is it?" In the few weeks that'd passed since Beverly had sat down and offered Abigail dried pretzels, Abigail had learned that "science experiment" for Beverly usually meant "hey let me try this cosmetic-related thing on you".

So here was Abigail, freshly showered with her hair in a wet braid, pushed back to expose the pink scar on her neck.

"Okay now hold  _very_  still..." Abigail flinched as the cool concealer was sponged against her scar. "You're so goddamned pale that I don't even know if this will work."

"W-what if it doesn't work?" Abigail had been dreading the warming weather; scarves look a bit odd in July.

"We will cross that bridge when we get to it," Beverly said absentmindedly, brushing powder over the concealer. "Here," she said, brandishing a small mirror, "how is it?"

It was obvious that Abigail was wearing a line of concealer on her neck. But the scar was covered enough for Abigail to not have to wear a scarf.

"Thank you Beverly," she smiled.  _Normal, normal, normal,_  Abigail's brain chanted.  _Hide the scars hide the blood hide the secrets hide hide normal hide._

"I'm having a barbecue this afternoon," Beverly said. "Please come! I don't want to be alone in a room full of FBI folks!" Her hands were crossed in front of her chest as she pleaded.

"Sure, Beverly. Why not?"

Beverly smiled. "Get dressed; do whatever you need to do. I'll be downstairs in my car. If you're not down there in a half an hour, I'm dragging you out of here. You need the fresh air."

____________

It's weird to see the people Abigail shadows five days a week in casual wear. The weather out on Beverly's back porch is lovely and Abigail is glad that she went without the scarf.

"I see Ms. Katz has offered you new cosmetic techniques," Hannibal offers as he sits next to her in a creaky lawn chair. His shirtsleeves are rolled up but he's still wearing a suit. A Tupperware container with a slab of raw meat sits next to him.

Price had picked up some hamburger from the store on his way to Beverly's; Hannibal insisted on bringing his own. Price shrugged and said he'd be cooking it himself.

Abigail doesn't ask what it is. A little voice tells her what it might be but she stuffs it in a box in her mind. Shyly, she presses her fingers right below the scar on her neck.

"I figured it'd be silly to try and wear a scarf in July."

The two exchange words about Abigail's schooling with the few FBI trainees who allow her to trail behind and ask questions or about the sillier things that Hannibal's (unnamed) patients come to him about.

"Abigail!" Beverly calls from inside. "Can you come help me please?"

Beverly, sweet Beverly, sticks with Abigail all afternoon. Beverly is never annoying. She's never obnoxious. She keeps Abigail stable. Beverly has some secret communication going on that allows her to shoot down anyone who stares at Abigail (or her now hidden scar) for too long.

Abigail can see from the look in Beverly's bright eyes that she'd rather be on Will's side of the couch, stealing his nachos and asking about his day, but she stays with Abigail.

As the afternoon progresses into evening, Beverly does eventually gravitate towards Will. A game of Monopoly that turned into Economic Twister (or "Emotional Blackmail" as Price called it) and lead to the few people still crammed into Beverly's living room scattering about.

A trip to the kitchen for more grape soda brings Abigail in close proximity to Will. He looks at her neck. She looks at the nacho cheese on his chin.

"Beverly's design?" he asks.

She nods, feeling the  _sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry_  pulse off Will in waves. Before she can think, she has her arms wrapped around his middle. He smells like beer and dogs.

"It's okay, Will," she says quietly. She doesn't know if it really is. It might be. It could be. It  _should_  be. He awkwardly pats her on the head as she disentangles her arms from his middle. Fleeting eye contact and a crooked smile tell her that's what he wanted ( _needed?_ ) to hear.

It's nearing 10pm when most of the people have cleared out. Seeing as how Beverly is her ride back to the hospital, Abigail gets roped into helping her clean up. She's throwing away the last of the paper plates when suddenly Beverly goes, "I've got a spare; do you want to stay?"

"Spare what?"

"A spare room," Beverly blurts. "I know it's probably not ideal post-hospital but you deserve better than being there and I kind of need a roommate."

Abigail smiles. "I'd love to."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I live in a world where Abigail succeeds at being normal (well, as much as she can) and people conveniently live in 2-bedrooms in case a new BFF needs a place to live.
> 
> Also: HOLY SHIT Y'ALL I WASN'T EXPECTING THE INFLUX THIS RECEIVED. I thought y'all were only in the fandom for the Will/Hannibal mindfuckery but y'all liked my little brotp fic! This is the last installment I'll have for this particular brotp. I really want to write Beverly/Will brotp but that might be a bit too out of character for the fandom.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am literally going to keep writing about these two until either A) I quit or B) y'all stop readin' it. 
> 
> Also it's gotten... darker.

Abigail has to have a mandatory session with Dr. Bloom before the hospital will discharge her into Beverly’s care. So here she sits, trying not to rub the powder off her neck in frustration while Alana “hmms” and “pffts” over paperwork.

“Y’know, I might have you see Dr. Lecter as well,” Alana says, glancing at Abigail’s chart. There’s a small mustard stain on Alana’s pretty teal wrap dress; Abigail decides not to tell her. She’s being petty but she wants to get out _out outside out in the world out from behind walls out with people out-_

“I’ll be sending you home with Ms. Katz, first,” Alana announces. “I won’t make you wait to see Dr. Lecter.” She sits in a plush armchair across from Abigail. “So why should I sign this paperwork saying that you’re stable enough to go?”

“You told Dr. Bloom that you wanted to get out and meet someone?!” Beverly is cackling as Abigail slides into the passenger seat.

Abigail flushes. “It wasn’t a lie! I just- I needed to think of something other than ‘I want out’ and ‘boys’ is what came out!”

The first two weeks of Abigail and Beverly’s cohabitation is a honeymoon filled with giggles, shitty movies, take out, and falling asleep on each other awkwardly on Beverly’s futon. During the days, while Beverly’s dissecting the dead and Abigail’s trailing the trainees, they barely acknowledge each other. Abigail takes her lunch in the cafeteria; Beverly opts for a small picnic with Price and Zeller on one of the morgue tables.

On the second Thursday into domestic dwelling, Abigail is pulled out of class by Dr. Lecter. “Just for a few moments,” he smiles and the instructor (a lovely agent named Emily) blinks in a daze before letting out a dumbstruck “O-okay.”

The “few moments” gets extended as Hannibal drives Abigail to his office. For the longest time, they just sit across from each other and stare. It’s not hostile; Abigail enjoys the silence.

“Does Ms. Katz know your secrets?” Hannibal asks, breaking the tension.

“My secrets or My Secrets?”

“Your Secrets.”

“No,” Abigail shakes her head. “That stays between you and me, Dr. Lecter.”

He smiles. At least Abigail thinks it’s a smile. She returns with her own crooked grin. He writes her a prescription for an anti-anxiety medication as well as a sleep aid and drives her back in time for Beverly to take her back to their place.

“Take care of her, Ms. Katz,” he says to Beverly, who salutes him before saying, “You betcha, Dr. Lecter!”

The drive back home isn’t quiet. Beverly likes to chat or have the radio on. Abigail can deal with quiet; Beverly cannot. Abigail likes that. Most people who can’t stand silence tend to be obnoxious. Abigail thinks that in the silence, Beverly can see the bodies she pokes and prods.

She’s half tempted to tell her that she isn’t the only one who sees bloody hands behind closed eyelids. Instead, she settles into the cool leather of the car seat and listens to the nonsense bass line coming out of Beverly’s speakers.

“You wanna talk?” Beverly asks. It’s a daily question. Sometimes Abigail cries over her parents and the girls. Sometimes Beverly talks about how she often resents Jack Crawford. Sometimes neither of them talks.

Tonight is that night.

Abigail shakes her head and Beverly shrugs. They pick up Abigail’s prescriptions and head home. Abigail heads to her room, heavy with the day. The last thing she remembers is taking the pills Dr. Lecter gave her.

Beverly finds her curled up on her bed, still dressed and with her shoes on. “Abigail,” she prompts softly, nudging the girl. “Girlie, you’re still dressed. C’mon.” Slowly and sluggishly, Beverly helps the girl into her pajamas. Abigail’s back asleep before they’re even buttoned.

If Dr. Lecter’s tea made her hallucinate that he and Dr. Bloom were her parents, then his medications make her dream that Beverly is an older sister, always there to care for her. In her dreams, she and Will Graham help her scrub the blood of her hands and make sure her pajamas are clean. They dress her and tuck her into bed. They each lay a kiss on her forehead (Beverly’s is kind, Will’s is sticky with stubble) and sit with her until she sleeps.

Will holds her hand while Beverly reads her a bedtime story while wearing the same teal wrap dress that her mo- Dr. Bloom wore. “Pretty girl,” Beverly coos, stroking her hair like a beloved pet.

_safe warm content family safe love happy family good sleepy warm family happy yes books sleep warm loved family lovely blood blood pain can’t breathe warm blood sticky hide the body pain blood hurt make it STOP-_

Abigail wakes with a small shout, hoping she doesn’t wake Beverly. The clock tells her it’s barely 11pm as Beverly bustles into the room. “Are you okay?” She asks as she presses the back of her hand to Abigail’s clammy forehead. “New prescriptions always fuck up your sleeping and I should have talked to Dr. Lecter before letting you take them. Do you want some water?”

Abigail shakes her head, hazy from the vivid dreams (nightmares?). “I’m fine,” she croaks out. Rubbing her eyes, she begins to ask Beverly if she’ll—

“I’ll stay, Abigail,” Beverly says, grabbing the tacky computer chair from Abigail’s desk and rolling it towards her bed. “I’ll take care of you, Abigail.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH GOD I HAVE A PROBLEM AND IT'S THIS BROTP. Also, to the person who commented asking about how Abigail knows about what Lecter eats, I'm operating under the idea that she kind of knows what he does or what he can do. I'm taking big leaps and bigger liberties here.
> 
> Also I like prompts because I am trying to pull a Bev/Will brotp fic out but my brain is like "ahahahaha no" and then it kind of turned into a "Beverly totally knows that Lecter wants to pork Will" and it was bad. 
> 
> Also the first two chapters have been edited for spelling and shit because I wrote them both in under twenty minutes a piece and did it in Notepad, which doesn't have spell check.

**Author's Note:**

> A little AU, a little bit canon divergent; I know. I feel like Abigail just needs a lady-friend and Beverly needs a lady-friend to eat nachos with.


End file.
